The Stranger by Jason Dennis
	"I have something to show you," he says. "Want to see?" In his hand he will hold a window into a world you and I will never see, a world only a child could understand or believe in. A horrific world, meant only for them, to imprison them, to steal them away. It could be anything that hooks them. Jewelry works well on the girls, baseball cards on the boys. Older kids like the Game Boys, or the cell phones, or just lately the iPods. It used to be watches and transistor radios. It used to be carved idols of the gods or of the Pharaoh. When he's done, once they've glimpsed that other reality, they are no longer your child. It might look like your child, but it isn't. You may think it's your girl or boy that you grab by the shoulders and shake, attempting to rouse them from their daydream, but it's not, and they aren't daydreaming. You may think the thing you carry in your arms into the emergency room is little Billy or Jane, but it's not. It's just a husk; a nothingness; a blank place-holder where your child used to be. Flesh and bone wearing Timmy's clothes, but Timmy is no longer there. Timmy has gone on to that other world, that other place that you'll never see and never be able to rescue Timmy from. Others have tried and failed. Your child, the one you brought into the world and taught so well not to talk to strangers, ensnared by the oldest of all predators. The bait has changed with time, but the result is the same: he gets their souls, their essence, their themness. Watch your children closely, and if your child has already gone blank then I pray for him and I pray for you.
	Copyright © 2006 Jason Dennis